A Trump in King Landing's Court
by Reyning in Castamere
Summary: Donald Trump has shown American how to win again. He just doesn't want to be bothered with the Presidenting of it all. Lucky for Westeros he is a very big fan of Game of Thrones and through use of money and magic, he is in Westeros, making Westeros great again.


Donald

Overnight, a Tower had appeared near Rosby on the way to Duskendale. Within the tall gold edifice stood a man of purpose, a man in search of a new adventure in a new place. The magics that brought him to this land had brought his home and everything contained within it, everything including the gold,valuable metals, and weapons he had purchased with help from his 'Good Friend' Lann, a clever fellow with golden hair and an easy smile. Lann was a traveler, had been to far off lands and knew of magics great and small. He went by many names and knew many people, great and small, having traveled for more years than a man could understand.

Around the tall tower, Lann called forth a double set of tall stone walls, a gate, a moat, and a bridge. The only things the new keep was lacking were the outbuildings and the people. And gold would satisfy that need soon enough.

"Lord Trump, I leave you now to do as we agreed. I shall take your place upon that thankless throne you described, in the House of White, appearing as yourself. All that remains of yours in your lands now belongs to me until such time as we discuss a switch. You may live out your life here as a Lord, if you please, and be given the respect that is, ah, the respect you deserve, from those less worthy." Lann said, with a stiff bow.

"Yes, Mr. Lann. I really do deserve more respect, bigly! Make sure you don't let crooked Hillary get away with any emailing. I left James Comey's number in my other phone near the toilet on the counter. If you get into any shit, just call him up and he'll make another statement to save your ass. Have fun, and don't grab any pussies I wouldn't grab!" Lord Trump said, face florid and jowls shaking with laughter.

Lord Trump walked to his large window and looked out at his lands. It had been quite easy to obtain the land for some gold and a bit of the non perishable food supplies he had stuffed into all of the other units in his tower. Cans, bags of flour and sugar and everything his assistants could find at costco was stuffed into his tower. It would be four years until he would be able to get back home and run for his second term. Of course he had a decade worth of food,enough to feed a small town for several years in his tower. He had heard that winters lasted far longer here than back home.

He grabbed his smart phone from his solar powered charging station and opened it to check his twitter. No bars.

He walked around the room for a while and held it up, searching for a signal. Crap! No data here. No wifi either. He felt his temperature rise and beads of sweat rise on his skin.

Scrolling through his phone, he settled for looking at photos of his lovely daughter. Smiling at his only child worth having, he made his way to his bathroom and sat upon his throne. And sat. And sat. Then got up and flushed. The water went down. It did not fill back up. He roared, "SHIT!"

Jose, his only assistant besides Hassan and Jamaal who were willing to take him up on the invite to this new world entered the room, eyebrows raised. "Senor Trump, what is wrong? You need to be calm."

"LORD Trump now, Jaime. I'm a Lord here, I'm yuuge."

"Lord Trump, be calm. We are still working on getting water in the tanks and the solar panels up. Jamaal and Hassan are in town hiring people for a silver a day to work for you. You are creating a lot of jobs, Lord Trump. People from all the other castles want to work here. You should not have slept for a whole week!" Jose replied calmly, ignoring the fact that Trump got his name wrong.

"A WEEK Jaime, how could you let me sleep for a whole week?! I don't even sleep for five hours a night. You know I have to be awake to tweet mean stuff at the media!" Trump roared this to make sure Jose knew he was mad. Big league.

"Sorry Lord Trump. We thought you were dead and we told Melania to call the police, but she just started laughing and packed her stuff and disappeared. We thought maybe she killed you, she was so happy. But you were just tired from staying up every night. Mr. Lann said you would awake when we got here. He is clever, that Mr. Lann."

He thought about his wife and wanted to care, but he could not. Here he could buy a new wife, a young one, girls were considered adults much earlier here. He could make new sons, better sons than those dorks he had. His sons could not compete with his lovely daughter. She was perfect.

Feeling insecure he gave Jose a dirty look. "More Clever than me? I DON'T think so. His face is all smirky and he seems a bit crafty too, BELIEVE ME. You don't want to trust that guy. Larcenous Lann! Ha! I crack myself up!"

"Will that be all Lord Trump? I must see to the household uniforms for the maids and manservants. We must acquire you a household guard with livery that matches your status. What colors do you prefer and what would you like for your sigil?"

"Gold. Of course, what else? Gold and White; white for the purity of my character and my great temperament, gold because I'm the richest man on this planet. Who else has a billion in gold hidden away? I should be a banker. And gold seems royal, see all my gold furniture? I'm super classy. I buy the most expensive trinkets, I impress all my visitors. They love me, I do great business with them, we make lots of money."

"And your sigil?"

"A yuuge wall. Like the Great Wall of Gyina. These people love walls. They'll LOVE me. I'll hold a rally real soon. With like, contests and stuff. Make that happen, find Omarosa and tell her to get to work!"

Omarosa

Lady Omarosa the Apprentice made her way to King's Landing in a Barouche she had obtained from a seller on Ebay and had stashed in the lobby of Trump Tower before the successful transportation of the building from NYC to the Crownlands of Westeros. She only decided to make the trip to this strange, backwater land at the behest of her Dear Friend, Lord Donald. He had skyped her one night blubbering and snotting, fearful of the inauguration and at being exposed as a complete idiot once he started his new job. Thank goodness for Clever Lann! Without that golden man, Trump might be stuck presidenting, and she'd have to deal with tons of side eye from Americans for passing this fraud off on the people.

Her barouche was well appointed, black leather seats, well sprung, with moderns shocks and plenty of room for herself and her handmaid to stretch out. Bella, her maid, was digging through the picnic basket, searching out more treats.

"So you say these sweets are made from seeds from a tree? So delicious. We need to get a few of those trees here, milady. I have never tasted such a thing."

"Calm down on the M&M's sweetheart, they go straight to the thighs. How will you move up in the world if you allow yourself to be held back by getting massive in size?'

Bella stopped rummaging. "Move up in the world? I know not what you mean. Marry? Oh, I am betrothed to Symon Rosenby, he will be guarding you so long as you reside in Westeros. We are sworn to you, milady. You being cousins with Lord Trump makes you a Lady. I will teach you how to get on here. The capital is filled with vipers and tricksters. Especially the court.."

"Yes, the court. How do things happen around there? Who should I watch and who should I court? The Queen? The Young King? Or should I join the Northerners and help them rid the country of the little bastard?" She laughed at the thought of herself joining a war. Oh, please!

"Ohh! Never let them hear you speak so! King Joffrey has killed people for far less. And you are a summer islander, so we might get away with telling him you lack understanding. But you better be careful. The walls have ears, even on the road. Good thing it is just you and I in this strange wheelhouse. Were we in the main wheelhouse on the road with the others, one of them might gossip."

"I was JOKING! Boy you people are wound up tight. So tense and boring. And I hate these clothes. Tell the man to stop the horses for a minute. Then go get my Louis Vuitton suitcase and bring it to me. No way am I wearing this crap to meet the queen. I'm wearing my Red Chanel with my choos. Get my make up case, a bucket of water and some towels. Then go kick it with Symon for a while. I have shit to do." With that done she pulled out her ipad and proceeded to try to beat level 250 in Diamond Digger Saga. Bella banged on the roof and the driver stopped. She hopped out into the road dust to do her lady's bidding.

Donald

Lord Donald held court in his lobby. People from neighboring towns, smallfolk from Rosby and Duskendale, and those in his new lands that cropped off portions of each territory, queued up to state their issue. Having sent Omarosa forth to obtain papers from King Joffrey sealing his status as a Lord, he felt comfortable making lordly decisions with his new Maester, Pearson, by his side. An ornate mahogany chair, encrusted with gold leaf and newly reupholstered with memory foam cushioned his butt. This was heaven.

The peasants stared in awe at the electric lights that shone bright in his 'hall'. So impressed, as they should be. He smiled like a crocodile. Westeros was going to be so glad he showed up. He was going to make things great again. Like when the Dragon Kings rules. Maybe he'd even find a way to marry that dragon girl. She was a definite ten.

Jose, his Steward, stood and called the first petitioner, a Pol Redlyn, a tenant farmer who had recently taken up a plot on Trump's land. He was of average height and slim in body, with a rumpled face, the type that is lacking the required teeth to keep it's shape. He shuffled forward to state his case.

"I comes from Rosby to work the fields for your Lordship. Your Steward tells me I'm to be mining Niter instead. Begging your pardon, milord, but I need to get one more crop in before winter comes. Long summer, long winter, they say, and we haven't the food put away to make it through. I don't mind the work, it's good pay. But I cannot have me children starvin come winter."

"Well, who do we have that can tend the fields while you do the real work of mining the Niter? It's way more important to do what I want. I can get you food, believe me! I know the best places that make the best food. Wait until my tournament, we'll have tacos AND taco bowls, you'll be so impressed."

"The only people not bound to a lord are the Hill tribes and the Wildlings. And the other lords will hate you if you seek to bring them here." The Maester told him this quietly, hoping the response would also be quiet. No such luck.

"The other lords don't know how to win. I'm a winner. I'll win with these wildlings and these hill people too. They'll love me, I know how to make a deal."

"Perhaps. But you'll need ships to get the wildlings and they won't ever bend the knee." The maester reminded him gently.

"Bend the knee? Whatever. I just need them to yell and get crazy when I need to scare the other Lords. I don't care what they do with their knees or who they pick for a chief. Maybe I'll run in their elections, I know how to win over wildlings. I always win. Believe me!"


End file.
